


Throw back

by orphan_account



Series: Inspired by But Always in Tandem [2]
Category: You Could Make a Life Series - Taylor Fitzpatrick
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's not just Robbie in the video, is the thing. Georgie’s there too, pink cheeked and sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead, one arm slung over Robbie’s shoulder, holding him close. They’re both in their BU uniforms, grinning hugely.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings today/this week/forever about but always in tandem (break up make up AND my Caps!!) and had to put them somewhere. Thank you, Amanda for encouraging me! Thank you, Taylor, for your genius. I'm sure I don't do it justice.

Georgie is fresh off the ice from his shift, breathing hard as he slides down the bench to cover the gap, thigh still stinging from a blocked shot, when Quincy discovers some kind of issue with the ice near the Sabres’ end and gets the refs to halt play until the crew can come out and fix it. An obnoxiously loud video starts playing on the jumbotron overhead to entertain the audience during the process.  
  
There’s always something in the queue at the Verizon Center for when the games get stopped—music or giveaways or little videos filmed by the PR team, like a ‘behind the scenes look at a Caps Call of Duty Tournament’. Usually, Georgie tunes them out, focused instead on gulping down some Gatorade or rubbing at a sore muscle. On other, significantly more rare occasions, he gets Robbie’s mostly unguarded attention, in the times when Robbie seems to forget himself and tips their heads together to go over some play with him. Those have been some of Georgie’s favorite moments with the Caps—some of the only off-ice moments he could stand, if he’s being honest with himself—and he savors them whenever they come.  
  
Unlike the usual jumbotron footage, what catches Georgie’s attention this time is the sound of Robbie’s voice, young and happy in a way Georgie hasn’t heard in years, lacking the acerbic edge he’s had since Georgie arrived in Washington. His head snaps up immediately. He’s riveted, as always, by the sight of Robbie in his element, showing off, looking for attention.  
  
From there, it’s like being in the front seat of a car, watching an impending crash in slow motion. It’s not just Robbie in the video, is the thing. Georgie’s there too, pink cheeked and sweat-damp hair falling across his forehead, one arm slung over Robbie’s shoulder, holding him close. They’re both in their BU uniforms, grinning hugely. Somehow the Caps had gotten hold of some of their college footage.  
  
In seconds, it comes flooding back to him. He knows exactly when this had been filmed. It’d been one of their last games of the season their sophomore year. By then, he and Robbie had been playing on a supernatural level. They’d creamed Notre Dame 6-1, both ending at plus four, and Georgie walking off with two goals, both off an assist from Robbie. At that point, the Barons had been calling every few weeks, letting Georgie know exactly how closely they were following his “progress”.  
  
On screen, Robbie whoops directly in Georgie’s ear, loud enough that Georgie winces, laughing and pulling Robbie into a headlock.  
  
The interviewer has to try a few times before he can get their attention long enough to ask a question. “You had a great game tonight,” he says, holding out a mic. “Another great game. What would you say is contributing to your success out there?”  
  
“It’s all Lombardi here,” Georgie says on screen, releasing Robbie from the headlock only so he can reach around with his other hand and clap Robbie on the chest. “I’ve never had the kind of chemistry I do with him. It’s unreal how well we play together.”  
  
Three years had been long enough for Georgie to forget the way Robbie used to smile at him, like Georgie was the greatest thing he’d ever seen; like he loved Georgie more than anyone in the world. Over time, despite Georgie’s best efforts the mental image had faded, and then been replaced entirely by the sight of Robbie glaring at him viciously from across the room. Even now, Robbie doesn’t smile that way at anyone; not Matthews, not Crane, not Chaps. Part of Georgie had been wondering if he’d been imagining how bright that smile could be—how the full force of it had sometimes made it hard to breathe.  
  
It turns out that he hadn’t been imagining anything. Except now, it feels more like someone’s holding him down and pressing the blade of a skate to his chest, being reminded of how much he’s lost.  
  
“He means I cover his ass so he can go score for us,” Robbie tells the reporter, looking hilariously caught-out for a moment before the sheer giddiness returns. “Sorry, I mean—.”  
  
“Stop while you’re ahead Roberto,” Georgie tells him, glancing down at Robbie with an embarrassing amount of affection showing in his expression.  
  
“Is this fuckin’ Robbie and Georgie?” someone else on the Caps demands, sounding incredulous.  
  
“You’re close on and off the ice,” the interviewer continues, looking amused.  
  
“Best friends,” Robbie interjects.  
  
Georgie laughs again, nodding and giving the interviewer a look as if to say ‘go on’.  
  
The reporter clears his throat. If Georgie remembers correctly, he’d been with NHL.com, doing a special profile on college hockey. “How do you like to spend your time when you’re not playing?”  
  
“I’m always with this guy,” Georgie says.  
  
“Can’t get rid of me,” Robbie adds smugly.  
  
“We grab food, listen to music—”  
  
“Study,” Robbie says, giving the word an unmistakable inflection. The interviewer had thought he’d been hinting at drinking. Robbie had actually taken the opportunity to grab Georgie’s ass while his arm was hidden behind Georgie.  
  
Georgie is finally forced to look away, face burning while a horrible swooping sensation overtakes his stomach. Down the bench, several guys are leaning over, craning their necks to catch a look at them. Next to him—because they’re always fucking forced together on the ice, where they still play just as beautifully together, if not more so than they had in that game against Notre Dame—Robbie’s looking down too, staring at his skates. The hand Robbie has curled around his stick is clenched so tightly that he's shaking.  
  
The urge to touch him, always there, faint in the background of their every interaction, becomes almost impossible to ignore. After watching that video, it’s harder to remind himself that he’s not allowed anymore. Georgie tightens his own grip on his stick.  
  
“Robbie,” he says, after a few seconds, voice low, incapable of not at least trying.  
  
“Don’t,” Robbie says immediately, voice sharp. “Fucking don’t. Okay, Georgie?”  
  
“Okay,” Georgie says. He makes himself stop staring.  
  
The next time he looks up, getting ready to skate out for a shift, Matthews is watching him, something questioning in his gaze. Georgie doesn’t know how to read his expression.


End file.
